


Ranger Café

by Hessy, Maeve_Lynn



Category: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crowley is a disaster child, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of alcohol, Solving a Crime, Theft, mistletoe kiss, shameless propagation of Netflix and pizza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28429734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hessy/pseuds/Hessy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeve_Lynn/pseuds/Maeve_Lynn
Summary: Crowley works in a café as a barista. Halt is the son of a rich company owner. Their paths cross when Halt gets into problems with his father, but can Crowley help him?
Relationships: Crowley Meratyn/Halt O'Carrick
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	1. Ranger Café

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Hessy and Maeve Lynn here (again) with our newest project. This time it's a nice fluffy AU

The café was quiet. How could it not be when it was just close to 6 am. Staying in front of the door was Crowley. He wore a green hoodie that contrasted with his red hair, and black pants, and looked like a zombie. He couldn't help that he just had to watch the new episode of his favourite series. Staying up to 2 am when you had a 6 am shift simply wasn't a smart idea. 

He unlocked the door and came inside. Switching the lights on, he inspected if everything was how it should be. Nothing changed during the night. The evening shift had done a good job cleaning everything up. After checking everything, Crowley went to the staff room.

"I need a damn coffee," he remarked, going through his hair with his hand, looking at himself in a mirror. He needed to make himself presentable, preferably before his co-worker for this shift came in. Getting off his hoodie, he stuffed himself in a brown polo shirt that read "Ranger café" and got a brush to try and tame his hair. Working in the food-processing industry, he had to wear his hair tied, so he got it into a ponytail that was only neat on the top of his head. Although he had tied it, it was a mess, but Crowley didn't particularly mind and neither did the hygiene and the customers. 

He made himself presentable just in time for his co-worker came in a second later. Leander, the Caffé Latte master, already looked like a superstar, unlike Crowley himself.

As soon as he saw Crowley, he smiled. It was an amusing sight, seeing the young man with such a tired look on his face and his hair half tied up in a ponytail. 

“Morning Crows, short night?” he smirked. Crowley raised his hand to cover the yawn that left his mouth. Leander laughed, covering up his own yawn (because those things were contagious) and got himself a coffee too. 

“Yeah, you could say so,” Crowley replied to his co-worker’s back. Leander was waiting for the Caffé Latte to be made and then turned around, coffee in his hands, and leaned against the counter. He took a careful sip and enjoyed the flavour. Yep, he was the master for a reason. 

“Did you go out last night again? Hunting down some nice guy?” Knowingly, he smirked. As always, Crowley just rolled his eyes. 

“No, not this time. I was watching that series.” Leander shook his head. Crowley and his obsessions, one day, he’d surely oversleep and get shit from the manager. So far, he always managed to be at work on time, but when obsessed with some series, he was progressively coming in later and later. 

“Of course you were. Did you break your record of the last time you binge-watched?” He eyed the young man and couldn’t help but think that he should find (or at least look for) a sleep schedule. He looked like a zombie with those big black bags under his eyes.

They heard a creaking sound as the door opened and closed and, both leaning against the counters, they looked up to see their manager, Pritchard. 

“Come on, you two, get ready to open this place. There are more people who want to have coffee in the morning. Chop chop!” he ordered and that made the two youngsters stop lazing around and finally get to work. After all, they weren’t paid for lounging around and drinking coffee (they’d be millionaires if they got paid for just drinking coffee).

They hurried to their places, preparing the coffee machines and refilling the empty boxes with coffee beans. Crowley hurried to clean the tables a bit before the first customers came and Leander had done a quick inventory of things. 

Pritchard could be strict, but he was a reasonable man as well. If they were short with employees, he would help them out (and he took care of showing the ropes to every new employee too) and he invited them over for a coffee often. It was always fun, on Christmas and the New Year’s Eve, the employees all gathered at Pritchard’s and would have a small party. A party not filled with alcohol, but with coffees. All the Rangers - as the café’s employees dubbed themselves - were all addicted to coffee. And Pritchard was excellent in making all kinds of that tasty liquid. All in all, Crowley was glad to have him as their manager. 

It was just 6.30 am when the first customer entered the café. He walked to the counter to place his order and Crowley waited patiently (read: fighting back the yawn that threatened to escape) until he had made his choice. 

“I’d like a strong black coffee please,” the man in front of him said. Crowley nodded. 

“Here or to go?” he asked, already knowing what the man would say. 

“Here,” the stranger replied in a grumpy tone. It must’ve been too early for him as well, and even though he had one coffee already, Crowley would give anything to go back to bed and sleep.

“Anything else?” He motioned to the small display of bagels and snacks. Most morning customers usually ordered a snack to go with their coffee. The man raised an eyebrow. 

“No, otherwise I would have told you,” the man said dryly and pulled out the exact amount of money for his coffee, leaving it on the counter and walking off to find the perfect seat. 

Crowley couldn’t help but laugh silently. He had seen the young man a couple of times before, but never this early. He watched as the black-haired man walked to a table, sat down on the chair next to it, and pulled out his laptop. He must’ve had a lot of practice setting it up, because not twenty seconds later, he started to work on it. He was so busy that he didn’t hear Crowley approaching him. He practically waltzed to the table, having his best customer smile plastered on his face.

“Your coffee, sir,” he said, setting the cup down with skilled precision. 

It took the man a moment to realize that the employee had said something to him. He sighed and looked at him.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you; I was quite busy. But thank you for the coffee, I could use it.” As he placed it a bit further on the table so that he didn’t have to worry about his laptop in case of some clumsy customer bumping into his table (oh, he had such an unpleasant experience before), Crowley walked back to the counter. Just in time as the next customers appeared.

There were some new ones who stumbled across the café or felt like having a coffee that very morning, but also a lot of familiar faces, such as Miss Pauline, some of their own employees who had a day off but still wanted to start the day with a coffee, and then also a group of students who came to buy coffee regularly. 

“Morning Merron, morning Harrison, same as always?” he greeted them with a big smile. Those boys were nice, sometimes they caused trouble, but it was never malicious and almost all baristas liked them (except for Meralon. But Meralon never liked anyone. Such a grumpy fellow, Pritchard had to put him on toilet service so he wouldn’t scare off any customers). 

They nodded and waited eagerly for their drinks, Harrison rubbing sleep from his eyes and Merron texting his friends. As soon as they got their coffees, they said goodbye and hurried to their classes. 

Around 10 am, when it was less crowded, Crowley did a quick check over all the tables, cleaning some of them while Leander took care of the dishes, and he noticed that the man had already left. 

Crowley furrowed his brows and got to cleaning the table. Every time this stranger came, he worked ceaselessly on his laptop, never looking up unless he got his coffee, and Crowley was curious. Well, he was always curious, some said that he shouldn’t stick his big nose in other people’s business, but he just couldn’t help it. It was too tempting. 

Crowley looked around and saw that there weren’t any new customers; in fact, everyone was at work, so there was occasionally a stray mother with a stroller, or a university student who needed their coffee to survive classes, otherwise, they had a small break now. Crowley made himself a Caramel (he did that one best, duh) and sat on the counter (Pritchard would kill him if he saw him sitting there). Honestly, he didn’t know why he noticed this guy more than the other customers, it could be that he barely talked except for ordering his coffee, or that he just worked on his laptop all the time. Really, he just came in, got his coffee, worked for a few hours, and then left as silently as a ghost. 

It was now almost the end of his shift. Just an hour left and he could go home and get some more sleep (let’s be honest here: he fully intended to keep watching the series). Crowley had worked almost ten hours and longed to change into some comfortable clothes, untie his hair and let it flow in the wind like the drama king he was, get some dinner, maybe take a nap and watch his favourite series. 

As it was almost dinner time, there weren't a lot of customers entering the café. Everyone hurried to get home to prepare their own dinner, and the only ones who stopped to get a drink were people who had night shifts in the nearby company. Crowley was just cleaning the tables and checking the inventory when he heard a vaguely familiar voice. He didn’t recognize it as one of his co-workers, therefore it must’ve been one of the regular customers. 

“Mind to help me out?” 

As Crowley turned around, he saw the same guy from that morning, but something was clearly going on now, and that unnerved him. First of all: Crowley had never, ever seen him passing by at this time of the day. Never. He always stayed a couple of hours in the morning, yet never came in the evenings. Something must've happened. Second, he looked horrible. While he still had his suit perfectly neat, he had a tired look on his face, accompanied by a stressed voice and furrowed eyebrows, and it seemed as though he had had a rough day. 

“Of course not, sir,” Crowley replied, walking to the counter, tying an apron in the café's colours around his waist. “Same as usual?” He already knew that this man usually took a simple black coffee, and he unconsciously reached for the coffee beans.

To his surprise, the man shook his head. 

“No, not this time. What would you recommend after a long day when you could use some… positive vibes?” The last two words rolled off his tongue slowly as if it was some kind of venom. _Wow_ , Crowley thought, _he must be fun at parties_. Nevertheless, this question got him thinking.

Crowley thought for a hot second and turned half around, looking at the big board above the machines, on which was their daily offer. His gaze glazed over all of the coffees available until it stopped on two of their customers' favourites. 

“I’d say either latte macchiato or caramel,” he said when he turned back to face the man. Tilting his head slightly, he waited for a reply. 

“That caramel sounds good," the stranger said, noticing the price on the board and fishing out his credit card. 

After paying, he returned to the same seat that he sat at in the morning and got his laptop on the table. Again. Crowley prepared the cup and the tray for the drink and looked up as his co-worker approached. 

“He’s a bit odd, isn’t he?” Leander asked him, eyeing the man. The first time he came there, being his grouchy silent self, they kept a close eye on him in case he was there to stir up trouble, but that never happened. Nevertheless, they still found him to be quite a weird guy. Crowley shrugged.

“Yes, but it seems as he had a quite rough day. He looks worse than normal!” he remarked, a sad smile appearing on his face. Truly, the guy looked terrible, as if he was bothered by something. 

The two employees talked in hushed voices as not to sound impolite or to make the man feel uncomfortable. It wasn't very professional of them, commenting on their customers' appearance where they could hear them, Crowley knew; however, this guy looked utterly exhausted. 

As the Caramel Master, Crowley knew precisely how to make the best caramel coffee. Every time he was preparing it, it looked like he was dancing between the counters and different machines. He skilfully filled up the cup and set off to the table. 

The smell of the freshly brewed coffee reached the man’s nose and he looked up in delight. Or, at least he looked a bit happier, having his coffee right next to him. 

"Here you go, sir," Crowley said, setting the cup down. The man eyed his coffee. Indeed, it smelled wonderful. 

"Thank you," he replied, shifting his gaze back to his laptop, suddenly looking very frustrated. 

Crowley narrowed his eyebrows but remembered that he should be professional and smile, so he quickly corrected his expression and turned around to go back to Leander (and make himself more caramel, he was exhausted). 

He took a small break while Leander skilfully served coffee to the few customers that came. As he sipped his drink, he kept watching the stranger. He looked distressed, although he did a very good job hiding it. He was probably used to having a poker face on at all times and whatever he had on his laptop, it frustrated him to no ends. Crowley was curious; of course, he was curious again. Maybe he could help the stranger, but he knew very well that he shouldn't bother him. No, he decided, he'd help only if asked. He learned the hard way that snooping in other people's problems would land him in trouble when he was younger. Crowley also prided himself on being the best barista they had. So far, no one had ever complained about him and his service, and he didn't want to get his first complaint if the stranger didn't need any help. 

It was nearing the closing time and the stranger still sat at his table, the coffee he made long gone, and Crowley was impatiently looking at the clock that hung above the entrance. 

He didn’t want to kick the man out, but they had to close the café so they could do inventory and clean the tables and the chairs. Leander was just cleaning the toilets when Pritchard entered the store to check on things. As the manager, he usually came to check on the employees three times a day. Sometimes, he came in more frequently, seeing as he lived above the café.

Crowley kept watching the man. He still made no move to leave, and he shifted from one foot to another. Just as he had gathered the courage to politely ask the man to leave the café, he heard a mobile phone's ringtone. Instinctively, he subtly pulled his phone out of the pocket, but it wasn't his. Instead, it was the stranger's.

The man took his phone, swiped the green icon to the right, and answered whoever was on the other side. Crowley sighed inwardly. Great. Now he couldn't very well ask him to leave, but the guy didn't seem like the type that would talk on the phone, rather the type of guy who would get straight to the point and get everything done as quickly as possible. 

Crowley didn’t know what the phone call was about, but the young man’s face became more concerned by the second. The redhead couldn’t wonder but he saw anger in the man’s expression as well. When he hung up, the black-haired man buried his head in his hands. He didn’t cry, he just looked even more miserable than before, like he had just got bad news. 

Crowley couldn’t take the sight any longer. He could never resist when it came to helping people. He just wasn’t the kind of person to walk by and not say anything. So he walked to the man, brought a second chair and sat next to him, talking in a soft, comforting voice.

“I don’t want to interrupt in your personal life too much, but I noticed that you probably aren’t feeling well. Are you alright?” he asked, hoping that the man wouldn’t shun him out. Fortunately, it didn’t seem like the stranger had the energy to argue with him, he just sighed.

“No, I’m not. That was my father, head of the O’Carrick company. He… just told me… said I…” He struggled as he searched the right words, eventually giving up on that. Crowley felt even worse to kick him out, the man clearly could use some help. And, if he could, he was going to offer it.

“I’m very sorry to hear that, Mr. O’Carrick,” he simply said, not knowing how to help the man more - or with what. The stranger never said what happened and Crowley supposed that was only fair. They didn’t know each other, and he for one had no right to stick his nose in O’Carrick’s business. Or, at least his name was O’Carrick, he had never specified, however, since he didn’t correct him, Crowley knew he was right in assuming that.

Pritchard noticed them sitting at the table and, sensing that something was off, he ordered Leander to clean the café as much as he could (promising him that next time, Crowley would clean both the toilets AND the café) and he set off to the table where Crowley and the man sat at. 

Seeing the manager come to them from the corner of his eye, Crowley looked up. Yes, he knew that it was past closing time. Yet, with a pleading look, he was silently asking Pritchard to let them be. The stranger, however, saw an older employee come to him and thought that he had to get out. He packed his laptop and stood up in a hurry, nearly knocking his chair over. 

“I’m sorry for wasting your time, I should probably go ho-…” The last word got stuck in his throat. That was the problem: where to go? His father had just kicked him out of the house! He looked at his own feet, furrowing his brows. He supposed that he could seek shelter under a bridge or something…

Seeing his saddened face, even though he tried to keep his best poker face on, Crowley understood what the phone call was about. No wonder the man looked so miserable. 

“You don’t have anywhere to go?” he blurted out before he could properly think about that. But that was just him - speaking before thinking things through. 

The stranger had no reaction other than looking away from him. 

“You could stay at my house this evening, that’s not a problem,” Crowley offered, once again speaking before weighing all pros and cons. It was a bit odd, offering a place to a stranger, yet, he felt he had to do that. After all, he could just take the couch. 

The man was too shocked to answer at first, but then nodded slowly. 

“That’s very kind of you, sir,” he replied. From the moment of the phone call, he had composed himself and was using such a formal tone. He was very grateful for the offer, even if it didn’t seem like that on the surface.

After the café was cleaned and closed (courtesy of Leander, who was quick and efficient and got it all done while the men talked), the four of them said goodbyes and went each their own way. 

Crowley didn’t live that far away from his work (otherwise, he’d definitely get more late arrivals, as he often seemed to race to the café in the mornings) and soon, they walked through a nice street, lit up by the street lights. It was already getting dark and Crowley could see the first stars appearing on the night sky, despite living in a city full of light pollution.

“Here it is,” he said and guided the man to the entrance of the apartment he lived in. He fished out the keys from his bag and the two men walked to the second floor and Crowley opened the door and walked inside. However, his guest stayed outside until the host gestured him to follow him into the flat. Only after this little encouragement, the stranger walked in, shifting from one foot to another and looking around the small flat.

“It’s not that big, but it’s home,” he heard from the bedroom. Yes, he could see that. It did look pretty comfortable. And, he mused, everything’s more comfortable than spending the night under the bridge. 

Crowley had changed into some comfortable clothes and his hair was now untied, falling down over his shoulders in waves. He walked out of the bedroom and proceeded to show the man the flat. There wasn’t much to show, he just needed to show him the basic utensils. After showing him the (messy) living room, the kitchen and the bathroom, Crowley stretched like a cat. 

“I don’t know about you sir, but I’m hungry. Wanna order a pizza?” He only had three hours of sleep that night, yet it didn’t feel like it. He felt energetic and he definitely wasn’t about to fall asleep on the stranger and leave him all alone.

The man smiled slightly and nodded. “That actually sounds perfect.”

He fell silent for a few moments as he thought about something, then spoke up again: “And you may call me Halt.” 

He didn’t know why, but he felt at ease with… Crowley, as he remembered the name tag on the redhead’s polo shirt. Normally, he was much more reserved, rarely spoke out unless necessary, yet he felt some weird connection with this man. Maybe it was gratitude, as he offered him a place to sleep for the night. 

“Great! Any ideas yet or do you need some inspiration?” Crowley always took the pizza that was filled with meat, he just loved it. But, he liked to order different types of pizza and mixed them together. For these experiments, he kept a flyer of a nearby pizza shop at hand. Now, he handed it to Halt and sat down as he took his old, battered laptop (that was so old that it refused to work quite often) to go to the site and to order his pizza. 

However, the damned thing wouldn’t work. Again. Crowley sighed. He knew that he should just get a new one, but he wanted to save his money for a vacation at the sea next year. Halt noticed his frustrated expression. 

“Doesn’t work?” he asked, nodding towards the laptop. Crowley just nodded sadly. 

“You can use mine if you want,” Halt offered, already taking his computer out of his bag. Crowley looked up. He would trust him with his own laptop? Eyeing it, it looked hella expensive. 

Halt typed in the password and opened the internet browser before handing it to Crowley. He took it carefully like it was some sacred thing and went to the pizza shop’s website. 

“Which one do you recommend?” Halt asked suddenly, watching him, as he had never eaten a pizza in his life. His… family ate only healthy food. Never, ever in his life, had he eaten a pizza. Crowley looked up and thought for a moment.

“Well, pollo is good, or hawaii, but then you also have the meat and the pesto and…” He named all the pizzas he knew and listed various details about each of them (no, he didn’t realize that he was rambling) and Halt had a hard time choosing. In fact, he had a hard time even keeping up with Crowley’s excited explanation of why he liked one pizza or another. In the end, he settled for the pollo, it seemed quite delicious to him. Crowley ordered the food and handed him back the laptop, stretching for the TV remote so they could have some background noise. Otherwise, there would be an awkward silence. 

As they waited for the pizzas to be delivered, Crowley got up and made coffee for them. He had some beans at home and within time, a delicious smell spread through the room. Halt looked up when Crowley skilfully manoeuvred to the living room and set the coffees on a small table he had there. 

“Aahh, Arabic beans. Famous for their structure, smell, and taste,” he remarked, seeing the amazing drink. “Thank you.”

Crowley turned around. “Yeah, how do you know that?” 

To him, Halt didn’t look as if he knew a lot about coffee, but here he was, surprising him with his knowledge. He seemed like a perfect businessman, and those, in Crowley’s experience, knew nothing about the coffee’s gifts, yet Halt seemed different. 

The black-haired man looked dumbstruck for a moment, then replied: "I've always liked coffee." Crowley beamed at him. It wasn't that often that he met someone who loved coffee as much as he did. But still, he blurted out: "You look like a businessman."

Halt raised an eyebrow. He was looking at him as if he were crazy. 

"Can't a businessman like coffee?" he asked, a small smirk forming on his lips. Crowley's face slightly reddened in embarrassment. 

"Of… of course," he stammered. "Yet, I've never met a businessman who would have such extensive knowledge about coffee." Oh, he knew that he was digging his own grave, seeming as Halt's face darkened for a moment before his usual neutral expression took place. 

Halt shrugged. "I never liked this job anyways." 

Crowley wanted to say something but a doorbell interrupted him. He perked up immediately. The food was there! He shot up and ran downstairs, getting their pizzas, and once back, he set them victoriously on the table. 

“Voilà!” he said. That was the only French word he knew, and from a show too. Halt opened his box. He knew enough to know how to eat pizza, so the two of them wished each other to enjoy their food and dug in. At one point, Crowley eyed Halt’s pizza. He liked that one as well. 

“Do you want to try mine?” he asked, holding up a slice of his own pizza. Halt tilted his head. The offer was nice, and Crowley’s pizza seemed just as good as his own. 

“Yes, please,” he said, taking the slice and holding up one of his pizza pollo. “Want a bite?” 

Crowley nodded eagerly. He wolfed down the offered slice and with greasy hands, he reached for the TV remote. It was almost time for one of his shows. It was an unconscious action, muscle memory you could say, as he had done this exact thing for a few years in a row. Yet, he never had a guest over. 

“What is that?” Halt pointed at the TV. Crowley blinked in surprise. What was what? Wasn’t it obvious? Then, he realized. 

“Oh, this? That’s Supernatural. It’s quite good,” he explained, setting the volume down and the two of them continued eating their food. Crowley noticed that Halt’s gaze shifted to the TV regularly, yet he didn’t dare show that he liked the show. It was obvious, really. 

During their dinner and between watching the series, Crowley eyed several times at Halt, and decided he was a good company. Quiet, but enjoyable company. And he knew his way around a house. Helped him with the dishes, even. That was the moment Crowley decided on something. 

“You know, recently, I struggle to pay the rent. I’ve been looking for a roommate with whom I could split it. Would you be interested?” he offered. Halt had all the right to refuse, yet the man weighed all pros and cons of such a decision. On one hand, he could look for shelter elsewhere than in this tiny flat. He had enough money for that. On the other, Crowley proved to be a good company, and he wouldn’t need to bother him for more days if he stayed here. _And_ , Halt thought, _splitting the rent seemed nice_. 

“Alright. I wouldn’t mind living with you,” he said after a few moments and he could swear that the redhead’s eyes lightened up in joy. 

“Great! That’s settled, then!”

He stood up, gesturing for him to follow. “Come on, I’ll show you where you’ll sleep.” Halt followed him into the bedroom. It was just a small room, dominated by a king-sized bed. Three people could fit in it. 

“That’s your bed. I’m gonna take the couch,” he said. Halt frowned. The couch seemed quite uncomfortable to sleep on. He really didn’t want this nice young man to sleep on it. 

“The bed’s big enough,” he said, immediately stopping. Oh dear, how must it have sounded? He was glad it was dark enough so nothing could be seen yet he felt the blood that rushed into his cheeks. 

“You wouldn’t mind?” Crowley asked and Halt let go of a breath. This was… better reaction than he had expected. Truthfully, he expected to be thrown on the street yet again. He shook his head to let Crowley know that no, he wouldn’t mind in the slightest. _What am I doing?_ he thought. 

“Great! But I’m gonna bring my own blanket,” Crowley said, digging through his closet. “I’m awful, I always keep it for myself.” He was grinning the whole time as he took out a blanket with ducks. Halt almost snorted. Yes, he would peg Crowley as the kind of person who had a blanket like that. 

An hour later, they were both laying in the bed, wide awake. Crowley lent Halt some spare pyjamas as he didn’t have any nightclothes with him. They were a size or two too big, yet very comfortable. Crowley was thinking - and he didn’t think seriously often. 

“Halt?” he mused out aloud. The other man turned his head to him, his eyebrow raised in question (of course, Crowley couldn’t see that in the dark). 

“If you don’t like your job, why don’t you quit? You should do something you like,” he said. For example, his parents wanted Crowley to be a policeman, yet he liked coffee too much and chose to work at the café. 

“It’s a family business,” Halt murmured. “I’d have to leave everything to my brother. And, where would I go? I already lost my home, I can’t quit my job. I have to split the rent with you and I’ll need money for that.” 

Crowley sensed an opportunity. “We’re hiring,” he offered. “You like coffee, you could try it out. It’s not a bad job and it’s paid quite well.” He stopped for a second. “Or, the pay isn’t nearly as good as a businessman’s, but it’s quite generous for a café. And you get free coffee whenever you want!” 

That indeed seemed tempting. Halt closed his eyes. 

“I’ll think about it,” he said. After a few moments of silence, he continued: “And Crowley?” The redhead hummed quietly in response. 

“Thank you.” 

Another few minutes of silence came by and Crowley was almost sure that Halt was already asleep before he heard a quiet: “I’ll do it. I’ll join you in the café.” 

Nothing could wipe the smile off his face the next day. Or the day after. Or, well, the whole week and also the week after. Then the whole year.

The next morning came quicker than they’d have liked. Crowley had the day off, yet, he woke up at dawn with Halt. The two of them ate some cereal for breakfast. It wasn’t much, but enough to start the day. They needed to go to the café. Well, they didn’t need to, per se, but both men wanted to start their day with a coffee and Crowley wanted to ask about Halt joining their team. 

He bid good morning to all three of his co-workers, namely Pritchard, as always, Samdash and Farrel, and went to the counter. 

“Pritchard, Halt would like to join our team,” he said, enthusiasm seeping through his voice. The manager looked Halt over for a moment. Halt was wearing his suit, maybe he was a bit too overdressed, he thought, yet a good first impression was important. To his relief, he saw that Pritchard smiled. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” he replied, motioning for the black-haired man to follow him into the backroom. Crowley chatted with his co-workers for a bit, but as the morning shift started, more customers came in and being himself (read: a curious idiot), he went to the backroom to wait for Halt to be done. 

When the doors opened, Crowley could see Pritchard showing thumbs up. Halt looked satisfied. 

“I got the job,” he announced, a smile gracing his lips. Crowley grinned. 

“Well, that calls for a celebration, doesn’t it? And how better celebrate than with coffee?”

He turned around and went back to the counter, Halt and Pritchard following him. 

No one asked him what he’d like to order, because Crowley could and would fulfil his order himself.

“Halt, as usual?” he called. To his surprise, his new friend shook his head. 

“Caramel, please,” he said and Crowley could see a slight smile on his face. That made him smile as well while he prepared two delicious caramels as the master he was. 

Halt fished out his wallet to pay for his share but was stopped by Pritchard. 

“It’s on the house. You are, after all, our new teammate,” he said, his words giving Samdash and Farrel a blast. Oh yes, he was sure that the news about their new worker would travel very, very fast. 

Crowley saw him and called from the machine: “Go take a seat, Halt, I’ll be there in a second!” 

The man turned around and went to his favourite table, just like every morning, and took out his phone. When Crowley finally came to their table with the two coffees, all he could hear from the phone call Halt just made, was: “That’s right. I quit,” before hanging it up. 

Smiling widely, Crowley set Halt’s caramel in front of him on the table. 

“Welcome to your new life, Halt.”


	2. Jail and chill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When there are strange thefts happening at the Café, Crowley goes to investigate... until he ends up in jail himself

Pritchard sighed as he straightened on his chair, staring at the empty drawer. This couldn’t be true, it just couldn’t! For at least the third time in four weeks, he was missing money when he was doing the finances. He looked at the list from the register. According to the list he had printed out, there should’ve been so much more than just the pitiful amount that was left there. How was it possible? It was a question that spiralled around in his head for some time already. As much as he didn’t want to admit what could have happened, there was only one solution. There was no break-in, but there must’ve been a thief of some sort. And, what seemed the most probable, a thief who had access to the register. 

Pritchard ran a hand through his white hair and sighed. “In this way, I can’t ever-” 

A knock on the door made an end to his thinking. He stored the small amount of money back into the safe, locked its door, and got on his feet. An awful crunching sound echoed and he almost crouched back down. He needed a moment, as his legs refused to work more and more. He painfully realized he was getting older with the day, but he didn’t mind it that much. It was part of life after all. And, he thought, I’m still quite healthy and have all my friends with me as well. He took a breath and forced his stiff limbs to cooperate. He was nearing his retirement, and it seemed that he’d have to retire soon. Yeah, he wasn’t as young as he’d used to be...

Crowley was impatiently waiting behind the door until his boss was done. Something was happening and he didn’t like it in the slightest. The employees needed their manager, quickly.

Finally, Pritchard found his breath again and opened the door. As soon as he saw his employee, his tired look turned into a concerned one. “Crowley, what’s the matter?” he asked, his concern growing with the second. The redhead was standing there, dressed in his uniform, his red hair in his usual ponytail, except in some places, the hair was everywhere, as it seemed like he was running around quite a lot before coming to get him. It usually was when he was going back and forth between customers. But now, there was a certain annoyed aura to him. Pritchard noticed that, and he was waiting for his answer with a raised eyebrow. 

“It’s that guy again, he is demanding to talk with you. Now.” His tone was urgent and Pritchard knew that he shouldn’t waste any second. 

For the last four weeks, a man from the insurance agency has been visiting them, asking to pay the bills for the license. That was roughly the time since the money started disappearing, and while Pritchard did have some personal savings, he never wanted to lower the employee’s paychecks. However, ever since money got disappearing, Pritchard just didn’t have enough to keep the coffee shop up and running and had to ask for more time to get enough money. But with each week, there was more money missing and despite him having installed a security camera, they kept going missing. It was a mystery, really. Pritchard had contacted the police three weeks ago, but they got the fingerprints off the register and they couldn’t find any other fingerprints than the shop’s employee’s ones, so they were back at square one. Without the money, the debt just rose and rose. Without money, the coffee shop would soon go bankrupt. And it seemed like the insurance company finally got impatient with him this week. Some strange feeling told the older man that, if he didn’t pay the debts soon, the café would be closed. Pritchard sighed when he came out of the room. Maybe this was the day their patience finally ran out. 

The two of them walked to the counter and to his shock, Pritchard saw no customers around. Well, to his shock, he wasn’t even shocked, in all honesty, he should’ve been expecting it.   
“W-what is going on? Why aren’t there any customers?” He saw all of his employees who were present in the shop at that time standing in front of it and, once he had made his way over there as well, he saw the sign. His heart skipped a few beats as he read what was written on it.

_From this day on, this café will be closed._

“This is a disaster.” He once again ran his hand through his hair. If the café was closed, who would pay all of the employees? Pritchard let his gaze slide over all of them, all in those amazing brown uniforms. Those men were like his closest friends. They were his home and he wasn’t ready to let any one of them go. But, it wasn’t hard to guess what they’ve all been thinking. 

“Boss? Should we look for new jobs?” one of the men came out of the crowd. Pritchard recognized him, he was one of the newest employees, a young, brown-haired, lanky lad who went by the name Stilson. A bunch of others looked at each other and at him and some nodded in agreement. 

Pritchard looked at the sign on the door. This whole ordeal felt like losing his own family, his comrades, people who have been with him through everything. But he needed to do what was best for them. 

“Maybe it would be for the best,” he sighed, feeling a tugging sensation at his heart. “Finish your jobs for today and stay at home tomorrow.” 

The men grumbled, some annoyed, some sad, and started scattering to finish up what they were doing before the insurance man came. Only two remained standing in front of the shop. 

Crowley was watching Stilson with narrowed eyes. That guy joined their team about two months ago and so far he hasn’t done anything out of order. Anything at all. At least, that’s how it must’ve seemed to an untrained eye. But everything that Stilson did seemed… off. Crowley had been raised by detective series going on the TV, he knew how to spot suspicious behaviour, and Stilson’s constant fidgeting and turning around to see if there was someone else with him seemed odd. 

And Crowley apparently wasn’t the only one who’s noticed. Chatting over a pizza one evening, he brought the issue up to Halt. 

“Geez, one would think that you’d be happy to be home after a day at work,” the black-haired man complained. “But you seem to live there in your mind. Want me to buy you a sleeping bag for Christmas?” 

Halt shrugged Crowley’s suspicions off with a whole range of possibilities, like the poor dude could have social anxiety and be nervous in the presence of big crowds (“In that case, what even he’s doing here?” Crowley had said, putting a generous portion of honey into Halt’s coffee), or that it was his first work experience and he just didn’t want to make any mistakes. But, Crowley knew that since then, Halt watched him subtly. So far, they really had nothing on him, but Crowley couldn’t help but wonder if this mysterious lad had something to do with the missing money. He behaved suspiciously enough. 

“I can’t believe it,” Leander fumed, washing empty mugs when Crowley and Halt made their way inside. “They couldn’t wait for another week or two? We would get the money, we definitely would! Where does it disappear to, anyway?” He was positively fuming. It was Stilson who came up to him and put his hand on Leander’s shoulder. 

“Let it go, my friend. We will have to do with another job,” he said, making Crowley narrow his eyes. To everyone else, it would seem like a friend comforting another friend, but he could definitely see the slight smirk that played on Stilson’s lips. It only took Halt grasping his arm and dragging him off to the toilets that Crowley stopped paying attention to that guy. 

“Seriously?” he pushed a bucket of water into Crowley’s hands while he got the mop. “Will you give it a rest? We just lost our jobs here and that’s your only worry? How about having something to eat? Or having shelter? Or…” his eyes glistened dangerously. “Maybe you’ll actually start thinking about serious things when your Netflix subscription is in danger.” 

Crowley’s jaw fell. 

“You wouldn’t,” he said in disbelief. Halt smirked. 

“I would, but the lack of money will take care of it just as well, I think,” he set his own bucket with water on the floor and leaned on the mop’s shaft. The redhead sighed. 

“Fine, I won’t bring it up again,” he confirmed, silently adding “...much.” in his mind. The two men got to their tasks so that they’d be done soon. 

A few hours later, the whole café was shining like a cleaning fairy had gone through it. In fact, it had only been 5 never-tiring employees, including their boss. Even without the customers present, they were as tired as small kittens. Cleaning everything properly did take some time and effort, after all. 

“Alright boys, let’s go home, maybe tomorrow will be a brighter day,” Pritchard wished them a good night and let them scatter. 

Crowley and Halt went on their merry way home. 

“Fancy some pasta today?” Crowley asked, swinging the strap of his bag over his shoulder. Halt didn’t even seem to think about it. 

“Whatever you want,” he answered nonchalantly, letting him choose what they’d eat. Halt’s maintenance was quite easy, as long as he had somewhere to sleep and something to eat, he didn’t mind anything. 

Crowley grinned in response. “Let’s see, we can order it when we-” Suddenly, a suspicious movement caught his attention. It reminded him vaguely of someone. 

“What is it?” Halt furrowed his brows, looking at him with a kinda concerned expression. Crowley blinked several times. 

“I think I’ve forgotten something in the shop, I gotta go back for it,” he got out of him quickly, hoping that Halt would get it. The young man shrugged. 

“Fine, just be home before the pasta gets cold,” he said, turning back into the direction they were going into, and continued on the way. 

Crowley turned on his heel and walked casually back to the shop. A street away from it, he hid behind the corner and first observed the building from far away. He had seen this in the detective shows on Netflix. Sure enough, when he observed the café, some things seemed out of place. Not many, to anyone it would seem like they were looking at the normal shop, but there was definitely something wrong there. Crowley just couldn't place it. All he knew was that, after thousands of worked hours there, in all the seasons, at any time of the day, it was different than normal. 

Silently, he slid the hood of his hoodie over his head and tiptoed over to the shop. To an outsider, he must've looked like a thief himself, but he knew better. 

Getting out his key, he opened the shop and went to deactivate the alarm… just to find out that it's already been deactivated. Crowley's eyes widened in surprise. No one but the employees knew how to do that. But, he had to think, Stilson was also an employee. He also knew how to deactivate the alarm. Crowley furrowed his brows. And he also had access to the register. 

Getting on his feet, he ran to the counter. He no longer cared about making noise, what he cared about was stopping that bastard who dared to try and ruin the coffee shop. 

True enough, there was a figure crouched behind the desk, a stack of money (or, well, what was left of the money), in his hand. In the dim light, Crowley had to narrow his eyes, but he visibly recognized Stilson. 

"You!" he said angrily. "You are the thief! How dare you ruin our coffee shop, you bastard!?" He had half a mind to just jump over to him and give him a well-aimed punch, but he forced himself to calm down and assess the situation. Stilson didn't appear to have any weapons at him. That was good, he could work with that. Even though it seemed improbable, Crowley had actually attended martial arts classes for a few years when he was younger, and he was fairly certain that even though he might not have such stamina, he could take Stilson down if they engaged in a fight. 

Speaking of Stilson, he straightened up, holding all the money in his hand, and smirked. 

“You naïve boy, you think I’m doing this to ruin your pathetic café? I’m doing this to make it better than ever!” he suddenly started laughing like a maniac as he played with the stack of money in his hand. 

Crowley had to raise his eyebrow. This guy was completely mad. 

"Make it better? Oh, how, pray tell?" he bit out sarcastically. Somehow, he couldn't see Stilson's point. How could ruining the café help in making it better than ever? 

Stilson smirked again, playing with the stolen money he held in his hand. 

"You still don't understand. I don't work for that old man Pritchard. I never have. My employer is the big coffee shop chain, Moran Coffee (MOuntain of RAin and Night). When this little coffee shop is at the point of bankruptcy, the owner of Moran Coffee, Morgarath, will sweep in and buy it here. This is a pretty convenient location, after all, wouldn't want to give it up for some electronics shop or other useless shit, right?" The longer Crowley listened to every word this man was spewing, the more his dislike for him grew. 

"It's always been you, stealing our money. And Pritchard trusted you!" he snarled, taking a step towards him. "How in the hell has no one caught you yet? The cameras are everywhere!"

Stilson smiled mysteriously. "The cameras? If the old fool went through my CV, he would know that I have extensive technical knowledge. Why didn't they catch me? I don't know, but I know what they'll catch." His left hand slid into the pocket of his pants, taking out a can. Crowley, red with anger, completely missed this movement until Stilson threw it at him, making the redhead gasp for breath and collapse in a matter of several minutes.

"You," Stilson said, shielding his nose and mouth with his shirt. The thief turned on his heel and left the bar, re-activating the camera system on his way out. 

Once he was safely outside in the fresh air, his smile turned into an ugly smirk. 

"Sleep well, you _dog_." 

The next thing Crowley knew was that he was being shaken awake by a man in a uniform. It was still dark outside, meaning that he couldn't have been out for too long. It was ominously silent in the building, Pritchard stood a little sideways while the policemen got Crowley on his feet. 

"What… what happened?" Crowley got out before his arms were forcefully twisted behind his back. "Ow! Let go!"

The policeman didn't bat an eye. He slapped cuffs on his wrists, saying: "Crowley Meratyn, you are arrested for theft. You have a right to an attorney, if you don't have your own, you will get one." 

Crowley struggled against the hold, his memories returning. 

"Where's Stilson? That sleazy bastard is the one who stole all the money!" His gaze landed on Pritchard. "Pritchard, you have to believe me, it was Stilson who did this!"

The policeman handled him very roughly. "Shut up, you can tell all your lies in the interrogation room!"

Crowley shook his head, his ponytail waving from side to side. 

"I will NOT shut up! It was Stilson, I'm telling you!"

Pritchard looked at him with pain in his heart. It reflected in his eyes. How much he wanted to believe the young man, the young man who had worked for him for the whole time since he graduated from high school. Crowley had always been a responsible worker, except that he sometimes came late, but otherwise, there was never any problem with him. Pritchard was having a hard time believing that this young man could’ve done something like this, but the only evidence was pointing towards him stealing the money. That, plus a random citizen alerting them to a strange person sneaking towards the building a little over an hour ago. All evidence pointed to him. 

Crowley stopped struggling in the policeman’s hold and looked at the owner, at his _friend_ , with tears in his eyes. “Pritchard… please, I beg you.” 

Before he could say more, beg more of whatever else he could’ve done, he was taken away into the police car. He wasn’t struggling anymore. He saw that his best attempts were fruitless and he knew that his next chance at convincing the policemen that he was innocent would be during the interrogation. Sitting calmly into the car, he was driven to the police station. There, he was taken to an interrogation room where he told what had happened. From the first moment, it was clear that the detectives didn’t believe him one bit. 

“And I saw him taking the money and he told me that the security cameras weren’t working because of him and-” Crowley had actually stumbled over his words a few times as he was trying to retell everything as fast as possible.

“Sir Meratyn, do you have any proof?” the officer asked. He was trying to stick to the protocol, however, with this almost hyperactive young man, it was proving to be a difficult task.

“I- only I was there, and him, but…” he lowered his head. Painfully, he realized that he really had no proof. At least, not anything that wouldn’t be his word, and the policemen definitely didn’t trust him. He could see it on their faces, their skeptical expressions. Crowley sighed.

“No, then I don’t have any proof.”

The officer nodded and said: “Then you will be arrested for the robberies. You have a right to a fair trial. You will stay in the prison until then.” He took the poor barista with him and brought him to a cell. Now, Crowley didn’t even try to struggle in his hold. It was pointless, he knew. As he was locked in his bare cell with only a bed and a toilet, he ran up to the bars and shouted after the leaving policeman. 

“Wait! I won’t get any Netflix in here?”

The policeman ignored his cry and left him there, utterly alone.

In the morning, the other baristas gathered in the café for one of the last times. Some of them didn’t know about the closure of the café. But some, like Halt, looked completely exhausted. It was understandable when Crowley didn’t return home last night, he spent most of the night up waiting for him, eventually gathering his things and going to the café, but he never found his roommate there. He was long gone by the time he got to the building. And all the strange things that happened afterwards… he was utterly exhausted.

The next morning, all gathered, the employees couldn’t believe the news. There were various cries of: “What?! Impossible!” “Crows would never do such a thing!” “It’s unfair, there should be more evidence. They must have overlooked it.” 

The remarks of the employees filled the room until Pritchard raised his hands to calm them down. He looked exhausted and the lack of sleep made him look almost 20 years older than he actually was. 

“I know it’s hard, and I also don’t believe it was him,” the wrinkles on his forehead deepened as he frowned. “But we have to follow the rules, and all present proofs point towards him…”

The only one who stayed silent was Halt. He had waited the whole evening and night, but his roommate had never shown up. After he had returned from his search to the flat they shared, he wanted to call the cops. He soon came to know that calling the police wasn’t necessary, because they actually searched him up. Halt had just got the phone when he heard the doorbell ringing. It was the middle of the night, and he fully expected it to be Crowley, sheepish that he lost his keys somewhere (happened once before, it could’ve happened again), but the call of: “Police! Open the door!” got him going. Halt sprang to the door, feeling a ball of fear for his friend in his stomach. 

In front of the door, there were two officers. They told him that they needed to search through the house. Since they had proven themselves with badges, Halt had let them in, realizing too late that they had to have a search warrant to look through the house, but he didn’t care. 

“My friend Crowley is missing,” he blurted out, not sure why he felt such a fear for him in the first place. “He went back to the place we work at and hasn’t returned since.” 

one of the police officers shook his head. 

“Your ‘friend’, as you call him, is in jail. He’s accused of multiple thefts. I need to search this house for the missing money.” Suddenly, Halt didn’t feel like offering hospitality to him. 

“What do you mean Crowley’s in jail?!” Halt’s friendly attitude dissipated very quickly. “He’s done nothing to get in there!” 

The policeman gave him a strict expression. 

“Behave yourself. Mr. Meratyn has done more than enough to get in prison. How else would you call stealing money from a shop?” That silenced Halt. He had an idea for an action but that would probably land him in prison right next to Crowley. But, weren’t best friends supposed to sit there right next to each other?

“You don’t know Crowley. If he had the money for anything, he’d have long since had a new laptop, anything except these old crappy appliances we have right now.”

The cop frowned. 

“Look, stand aside and let us do our job.” Even if Halt didn’t want to, this was a cop and he definitely didn’t want to end up in prison. So he was left watching how the policemen searched the whole apartment upside down (“Come on! Do you know how much work it is to clean all of that shit?!”) and they stopped when they couldn’t find any of the missing money.

“So you are sure there aren’t any hidden places? No hidden money?” one of the men asked him.

Halt shook his head. “I’m sorry officers, but you really won’t find anything here that’s not ours. The money we have here is supposed to be brought to the bank. Those are my own savings.” It was true, and Crowley’s room was void of any money, as he was once again kinda broke.

The black-haired man had to show them that it was true, but in the end, the cops left with empty hands and a lot of questions. Halt was then left on his own, but it was almost 4 am, so he made himself a coffee and sat at the table in silence.

“The only question is: how did they find Crowley? Who found him?” he asked now in a low, dangerous voice. His deduction skills have told him that an employee must’ve taken the money. And, as Halt knew that Crowley suspected Stilson, he had gone over the facts. The man was hired two months ago, and the money started disappearing about a month ago. That could be a lead as well. Halt didn’t know much about the man, apart from the fact that he had extensive chemical knowledge that he liked to show-off to the customers and his co-workers. 

Now, the other employees looked at him as he said the question. Yes, that was a good one. Who, when, how? They all liked Crowley, he was the one who managed to get them to keep together most of the time and they didn’t believe that he’d be capable of such treason. 

“I did, as I opened the store,” Stilson said, standing between Berrigan and Leander. Halt tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. 

“And what were you doing here? We have a schedule for opening hours, and today wasn’t yours. So, what did you do here?” He knew that Stilson was lying. If he had found Crowley in the morning, the police wouldn’t have come in the middle of the night. But, he thought, I will play his little game. 

Stilson smiled. “I changed with the morning shift. Preferred that one rather than the afternoon one.” It seemed that the man was lying with his every breath. Pritchard called all employees to come in the morning if they could.

This time, Halt was smiling. “That's very nice, but pray tell: when did we ever agree on that? Because, as far as I know, it was my turn and I never got a request from you.”

The man in front of Halt cursed himself. How stupid of him to not check the schedule! Now he really had to get a good excuse to get away from this. Judging by the other man’s smile, he was suspicious of him. Didn’t he also live with the annoying redhead? He could’ve told him. Damn, this wasn’t good! He had to get rid of him as well, and fast! 

“Guys! Please, don’t assume things or provoke the other. Let’s wait for the final decision, alright?” Pritchard tried to calm down the situation and it seemed to work. Or well, for some time. He had noticed more and more employees eyeing Stilson suspiciously. Even he had doubts with the man, but he hadn’t caught him red-handed, so he couldn’t do a lot. His doubts were set off by what Crowley said that night. Sure, there was no proof, but Pritchard sat down and compiled everything he had known about him, and he came to some very concerning discoveries. 

He sighed. “There isn’t much we can do now, so I’d like you to-” he had to swallow as it hurt him very much. But it had to be done. “I want you to hand in your uniforms and clean your lockers.” 

The message shocked all of the baristas. The message on the door was clear, but… Was it really that grave? Did they really have to? Pritchard noticed the glances they all gave each other.

“I’m sorry guys, but it seems like we will be closed for now,” the owner said, holding back his tears. His voice broke at the end and he turned his back to them.

Everyone went to do as they were told, all silent as there wasn’t anything fun about it. It hurt to leave their places empty and cleaned, but it did seem like the best thing to do now. It was time to look for new jobs so that they could support themselves and their families. 

The only one who didn’t do as he was told was Halt. He doubted Stilson’s story and the fact he was there when he didn’t have to be… he went to the Pritchard’s office and looked around. He too had watched the detective series (courtesy of Crowley who always put those annoying things on during dinner) and knew a bit about it.

“Trying to find some evidence?” the man’s voice sounded behind him. Halt never knew that Pritchard could be as silent as a ghost, and almost jumped in the air. He turned and left the office so he could face the owner.

Halt nodded. “Yes, as it’s just too unreal that Crows did it. Yes, he may be short of money, but he would never do such a thing. He and I would go back home, but he had to go back for something… but I think he had noticed that something wasn’t right. And-” 

As he was talking to his boss, he slowly circled the old man and had to blink as the light shone in his eyes. Looking down, he saw that it came from underneath the desk. Wait, they cleaned the whole shop yesterday, what was this piece of trash doing here? Bending down, he saw it was some kind of a can? He almost took it with his bare hands, but stopped at the last moment, remembering the basic rule of detective work. 

“Could you please hand me a tissue?” he asked Pritchard who didn’t have a hard time stretching himself to get to the first tissue there was.

Pritchard watched him and walked around the desk to take one and hand it to Halt. 

“Do you need anything else? A plastic bag?” He slowly got what the young man was doing. Finally, he could also see what he was holding, carefully engulfed in the tissue like a precious treasure. 

Halt thanked him and put the can into the bag, sealed it, and kept the tissue in his pocket. It seemed like they could call the police again, this time with actual proof. 

“Doesn’t look like something you would normally find in a coffee shop, or do you have a hidden stock of sleep gas in here?” He raised his eyebrow but already saw the older man shaking his head.

“No, of course not! Why would I even use it?!” He looked at it himself and turned it around, inspecting every inch of the can. “I can’t see if there’s a logo, but if there is…”

“Take it with you in your bag and hand it over at the police station. If it really belonged to Crowley, his fingerprints are on it. If not, then we will know who was here.” 

Pritchard sighed and put the bag aside in his own leather bag. “I just hope none of my employees are responsible, but if it’s Crowley’s, then I fear we won’t see him for a long time.” Halt could only look at the ground. He really didn’t believe that such a thing could be Crowley’s.

After he had stored the can, Halt asked Pritchard to check the security cameras. As he once used to be the successor of his father’s company, Halt did know some things about them and how they worked. 

“I had installed them, but so far, they haven’t worked properly,” Pritchard mentioned. He had seen the videos, but there wasn’t anything odd to see. Halt inspected the device and raised an eyebrow. “I think I don’t have to ask if you plugged it in, right?”

Now it was his boss’ turn to raise his eyebrow, or more, both of them. “Halt, I may not be a technical nerd, but I do know how to let them work, thank you very much.” However, the question had made him curious. “You didn’t ask that on purpose, did you?”

His employee smirked. “No, I asked because someone has turned off the recording switch, meaning that it didn’t record anything.”

This bewildered the man. “What do you mean, it doesn’t record? When I installed it, I had turned that on!”

Halt turned up the computer and showed Pritchard the recording. At one point, the café was silent, the next moment showed Crowley laying there. 

“See that? That’s the point when the recording was cut off. Crowley couldn’t have plugged the cameras back in if he was unconscious. Therefore, there must have been a third person, someone who turned the camera back on.” Now that he said it, it seemed so simple, so logical, yet the policemen hadn’t thought to look at the simple camera recordings. Thinking of it, Halt had his doubts about the police’s efficiency, but this was just ridiculous. Crowley needed to be let out of prison, now. They had solid proof that there was a third person, and Halt would give his neck that it was Stilson. 

This time, it was Halt who could smirk at the police officer who came last night to search through his and Crowley’s flat. Pritchard had taken him to the police station with him, telling them that they had concrete proof that it wasn’t Crowley who stole the money. Pritchard also retrieved (with Halt’s help) the security cameras recordings, and the detectives were currently testing their authenticity and whether they could be used as a proof. 

Meanwhile, Halt got permission to see his friend. Crowley almost cried when he saw him. “Halt! I’m so glad to see you!” He stretched out his hand through the bars and wanted to hold his friend’s hands. To his surprise, Halt did and squeezed them. He didn’t even roll his eyes like it was his good habit.

“We’ll get you out of here, promised. And I think it should be within some time. We found more evidence, proving your story! There won’t be another option than to let you go.” He squeezed his hands some more. 

“We believe you, Crowley, that it was Stilson.”

Now, the redhead was crying tears of happiness. 

“Thank you, thank you,” he kept repeating. “It’s terrible in here; only this little room with a bed and a toilet and, even worse, no Netflix!”

Halt rolled his eyes but felt pity for his friend. Crowley didn’t deserve this. 

“It’ll be alright, don’t worry. Within time, we’ll be at home again, chilling on the couch with a pizza and watching Netflix.” As much as he always whined that he didn’t want to sit down and watch, he did secretly enjoy the time spent with his roommate. 

They spent some more minutes talking and Halt reassured Crowley that he would be free soon before he was called back for the results of the tests. 

“Hold on, we’re gonna leave this building together.” With that, the younger man quickly pressed his lips on Crowley’s hands and turned around on his heels, hurrying to Pritchard.

Crowley was left wondering what was that rare sign of affection.

When the detectives were finished, the results definitely weren’t what the pompous idiots were expecting.

“The fingerprints… They’re completely different!” the chief detective cried in disbelief. “We have the wrong person!”

Behind them, they completely missed Halt’s mumbling of: “Didn’t we all tell you?” The cops successfully ignored him and Pritchard rolled his eyes. 

“But who could it have been then?” the chief detective asked, making Pritchard nudge Halt in the ribs. The young man stepped out. 

“We might have an idea. There is this employee at the same coffee shop, his name is Stilson. He’s been working there for two months and he is very skilled in chemistry. We-” he pointed at himself and Pritchard, “also know that he worked in a company called Moran, it’s on his CV.”

The chief detective furrowed his brows. That did sound familiar. Picking up his phone, he called the lab’s number. The can with sleeping gas was sent there for an examination and the specialists were able to decode the logo of the company that had produced it. 

“I see, thank you.” With a sigh, he set the phone down. Then, he turned to the two men in front of him. 

“The company which produced the can… it’s Moran.” 

Then, pure chaos ensued in the office. There was shouting, various people almost stepping over Halt and Pritchard, and they really had to watch their steps so as not to get buried in the depths of the police station. 

Halt had never been present in a police action. But now, as he sat in the police car, with blasting sirens, he really wished that he hadn’t come. Pritchard next to him wasn’t faring with the quick and wild ride much better, as the car zigzagged between all the others, completely ignored all traffic lights and almost ran over some pedestrians who hadn’t bothered to take out their AirPods. 

Finally, they were at the address that Stilson had put down as his place of stay. But, it was very different from a normal house, in fact, it wasn’t a house. It was a warehouse. The policemen ordered Halt and Pritchard to stay in the car while they went to check the place out. 

They came back a while later, shaking their heads. 

“This can’t be the place where he lives. The man must’ve either never lived here, or fled at the slightest sign of trouble coming his way. We will get an arrest warrant on him, and we will let your friend go, since we know that he wasn’t the one to steal the money.” 

While they could rejoice in finally freeing Crowley from the awful claws of the police, one thing was still left unsolved. 

“But when will we get the money to keep the shop running?” Pritchard asked, meeting the policeman’s shrug. The old man looked at the ground, until he heard a soft cough. 

“I think I would have a solution,” Halt offered silently. Pritchard looked up, with a defeated look on his face. Halt continued: “Before I started working for you, I was working for my father’s company. I have quite a lot of savings on my account, and I can invest in the shop. If you’d let me, of course.”

Halt definitely did not expect a bear hug in which he had found himself in moments later. He… wasn’t used to giving hugs or getting them, but after the initial shock, he slowly wrapped his arms around Pritchard. 

“Thank you,” the old man whispered, grateful for the sudden opportunity that had arisen.

Halt awkwardly patted his back, then sighed. 

“We can sort out the details later, let’s get Crowley out of that damned prison.” 

Halt opened the door to their apartment and stepped inside, followed by Crowley. After a huge apology from the police officers, they had left the police station and were brought home by Pritchard. The whole apartment was a mess but neither of them minded, Crowley was just glad to be home.

Pritchard had informed them in the car that the following morning, they would have a day off as their boss had to arrange a lot of things with the insurance agency. Halt was supposed to be there though, to help with the whole set-up and getting the coffee shop back on track. 

A bit unsure, Crowley took off his shoes, hung his jacket on the hook and sat down on the couch. It had been a scary experience for him and he was glad that everything was now done, but still, he would need a big distraction. Like Netflix and chill, preferably.

“How about you go and get yourself into some comfortable pyjamas and then sit down here on the couch with a nice blanket?” Halt suggested when he saw that his friend was hesitant as to what to do.

Crowley did so, but all in silence and, after getting into soft and cozy nightclothes, he returned to his spot. He saw that his roommate had prepared Netflix and gave him the remote. “You can choose a nice movie or series, alright?” Crowley tilted his head. He didn’t know this side of Halt.

“Halt, what about some dinner?” Crowley asked, his stomach grumbling as he mentioned it.

Luckily for him, Halt had ordered his friend’s favourite pizza while they were on their way home. It should be deliv- the doorbell rang and Halt hurried to the door, leaving Crowley to sit there, huddled in the blanket. After taking the pizza, he went back to the living room where he gave the pizza to the redhead. Crowley reacted with slow, delicate movements, as if he were afraid that any moment, he’d appear back in his cell again. But, nothing happened when he took the food. It wasn’t just a dream. 

“Now, let me change quickly and then we can have some Netflix and chill, how about that?” He saw how the other man’s eyes lit up and within a few minutes, they were watching a movie. It wasn’t a scary nor a serious one. After all the tension, Crowley wanted to enjoy and simply laugh a bit, take away his anxiety. The movie didn’t take all his anxiety away, but Crowley already felt relief and he started feeling more at home in the apartment again. 

Halfway during the movie, Halt shuffled closer to him, and let him lean against him. Absent-mindedly, he ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair. He didn’t know why, but it just happened. He didn’t get any complaints, so he continued, until the last minute of the movie. Crowley had fallen asleep, his breathing regularly and Halt tucked him in, after laying the now empty pizza box aside. Eventually, he too became tired and made himself comfortable on the couch, leaning his head on Crowley’s.

“Don’t worry buddy, I will make sure nothing like this will ever happen again.” With that, he kissed the hair and laid his hand on his roommate’s hand. Instantly, Crowley grasped it, holding it tight. 

“Thank you Halt, for always being there.”


	3. Oh look, there's a mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When decorating the Café for Christmas, Crowley forgets a tiny detail hanging over his and Halt's head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of alcohol at the beginning. Not exactly Christmas period to post it, but hey, it was written on Christmas

Halt took out the great shopping list from his warm winter coat as he and Crowley were strolling from the parking lot (where they parked Pritchard’s old Toyota) towards the Christmas marches. 

“Remind me again why Pritchard wanted us to pick everything up?” he grumbled, shoving the shopping list back into his coat to get some space to put his gloves on. 

It was a chilly December afternoon and the two of them were sent out in Pritchard’s flaked car to shop for decorations everyone could decorate the café with. There were several (in Halt’s opinion, useless) things they were supposed to buy, including a whole Christmas tree, decorations to put onto it, as some decorations have been broken during the last years by careless customers or even employees, and needed to be replaced. 

Crowley stroked his chin. 

“Well, I recall him saying something along the lines of ‘You’re the best men for the job’ or so,” he grinned. “And he’s right. We are the best men for the job.” He seemed excited about Pritchard choosing the two of them and Halt, who would rather stay in the warmth of the café, didn’t have any choice than to go after him in the crowds that filled the Christmas market. 

Crowley’s attention from their designated task was stolen by all the lights that decorated the square. Also, the big stand with mulled wine also helped. 

“Halt, Halt! Can we get some mulled wine?” he asked, enthusiastic as a four-year-old child would be (if alcohol was legal for four-year-olds). 

Halt had to summon all his willpower so as not to slap him. He grabbed Crowley’s hand, pulling him in the other direction, while simultaneously pressing his other hand to the root of his nose to try and calm down. 

“No, we can’t,” he said in a strict tone. “You can’t drink in working hours, Crowley. And don’t forget that you have to drive.” 

The redhead looked visibly disappointed. He threw one last look to the stand with mulled wine. 

“But Halt, one glass wouldn’t kill you,” he protested. In response, his roommate dragged him even further away from the stand. 

“Or would you rather have mead?” Crowley asked when spotting another stand with alcohol, earning another harsh tug on his hand as Halt picked up his pace to keep him away from alcohol (for the record, Halt had his experience dealing with drunk Crowley. His friend kept aggressively flirting with him and Halt didn’t want to deal with his conflicted feelings. Ever since the jail incident, he kept noticing more and more things about Crowley that he liked. His feelings were just conflicted, but that didn’t erase the memory of the unusually big blush that had spread on his face whenever Crowley drank). 

“No,” Halt said firmly, getting out the Christmas list from his pocket. “Let’s go. This place is obviously dangerous for you.” He got a disappointed “aaaaahw, but Halt!” from Crowley but he didn’t care. They had a mission. He pulled his roommate with him, until they were out of reach of any alcohol stands. Only then he felt safe enough to let go of Crowley’s hand. He wouldn’t admit it later on, but a blush had appeared on his cheeks when they were holding hands. Even if he couldn’t feel the other man’s warm skin, the fact they were walking hand in hand was enough to make his heart race.

The first place they went to, was of course, the stand with Christmas trees. Spruces and fir trees of various sizes were ranged along a little fence decorated with lights. Crowley scratched the back of his head. He never realized there were so many kinds of trees.

"Did Pritchard say what type and size he wanted?" he asked, at loss when seeing all the possibilities. 

Halt once again took a look at the shopping list and shook his head. 

"He didn't. I guess anything as long as it fits into the café?" 

He strolled off, looking for a suitable tree. Crowley stayed at the XS size trees, seeing a cute little fir tree that would perfectly fit into their living room. He clasped hands, a devilish smirk appearing on his face. He took the little tree into his hands and followed Halt. 

After walking past several trees of different sizes, the black-haired man was checking out a nice spruce with a pretty label marking it as the M size. 

“Crowley, what about this one?” he asked, turning around, before his expression briefly turned to that of surprise. 

“Crowley, that’s not what we were supposed to get,” he scolded immediately and the red-haired man cradled the little tree in his arms, a smile on his face.

“This little fella isn’t for the shop, it’s for us,” he clarified and Halt sighed. He would never have the last word with him. He nodded towards the tree he had in mind. 

“What do you say on this one?” he asked, waiting for his opinion. Crowley circled the tree, watching for imperfections. Finally, he seemed satisfied with it. 

“I think this one is good,” he said finally. Halt had been watching him intently. He liked to see the look of concentration on his face. 

The two men scooped up the trees and paid. Halt, of course, let Crowley pay for the small tree from his own reserves, not from the money Pritchard gave them to buy decorations, which made Crowley almost spill the contents of his wallet on the floor as he was trying to keep the tree in his arms and fish out the wallet. 

“How much longer?” Crowley asked halfway to the car as they first had to get the trees back there. Halt huffed. He had the bigger load in his arms and Crowley was the one complaining. 

“You know where we parked, Crowley,” he said in a tone that didn’t allow any other remarks or questions. At this, the redhead shut up and followed him to the car, his arms becoming tired. The little tree didn’t seem to be that heavy, and it wasn’t, but after some time it still became too much. 

The two men got the trees into the car and returned to the markets to get the decorations. Once again, Crowley eyed the mulled wine stand, wishing intently that he wasn’t at work and could buy some. 

“Come on,” Halt urged him to move, leaning closer. “We can go here after work, see if they still have some,” he offered. Overwhelmed by joy, Crowley turned around, wanting to hug him, yet Halt stepped out of the way. No way in hell was he about to get hugged. Crowley stumbled a few steps before managing to stop his fall. 

“Haaaalt,” he looked at him. “Hugs are nice.” 

The younger man shook his head. 

“Hugs are just a way to hide your face,” he remarked, turning around. Crowley went after him, mumbling something underneath his breath. 

The two of them bought a bunch of Christmas lights and other decorations before returning to the café. During the ride, Crowley turned on the radio, singing along with the carols and not caring about Halt’s protests. Once they arrived, they saw it was closed, as Halt and Crowley came back right after the end of the working hours, yet everyone was still there to help with the decorations. They had all been waiting for them so they could blast carols and decorate the small shop. 

“Where have you been?” Leander asked. He had already changed to his normal clothes, now leaning on the counter casually with a cup of coffee in his hand. 

Halt put the tree in the middle of the shop and pointed at Crowley. 

“He kept getting distracted by alcohol,” he said with a slight hint of a smile. Crowley put his arm on his chest. 

“Maybe I was distracted, still, I could’ve had one-” 

“You couldn’t, you drove, remember?” Halt interjected, taking the box with decorations from his free hand and set it next to the tree. 

Pritchard smiled. These two… Their friendship was extraordinary. Though, sometimes he couldn't help but feel there was something more. 

Berrigan shook his head. 

“You two…, let’s decorate so we can have some actual alcohol,” he suggested and Crowley, being the big child he was, immediately opened the decoration box. Leander put on some Christmas music (Halt swore under his breath that he’d have to go to the dentist just from the big fluffy Christmas songs alone), and all men plunged themselves into holiday cheer and decorating (with Crowley being the most excited one). 

An hour of hard work later, the café was changed. Where there had been flowers on the windows, there were now decorative chains and the flowers which sat in pots had a little figurine put into the dirt. A holly wreath was on the front door, welcoming any newcomers. The front desk with the counters was decorated with chains made out of leaves, with an occasional ball. 

There was a candle on each table to get to the true Christmas atmosphere. As Halt remarked, it looked more as if the customers were on a date. No one paid him any attention, everyone was too busy putting more decorations on the tables, the plants or the ceiling. Crowley had taken up the task of decorating the ceiling. He was standing on a ladder that was so wobbly that he almost fell from it several times yet he stubbornly willed the ladder to be on the spot. He already put around some stars and balls that were shining around on the ceiling. 

“And for the great finale…” He took something out of the basket that rested at the top of his ladder. No one could see what it was, but Crowley seemed very enthusiastic about it. As he stretched out to get it fastened on the ceiling, the ladder with him swayed so much he yelped and fully thought that he’d fall down and break an arm or two, but that never happened. 

Still a bit shocked, Crowley opened one eye. His head spinned but he realized that he was still perched on the top of the ladder, grasping the end for his dear life. Underneath him, he saw Halt as he grabbed the legs of the ladder. 

“I’ll keep it steady,” he called out to him and Crowley let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. 

“Thanks!” he called back and stretched to put on the last of the decorations. Tying it around the lamp in the room, the green branches of mistletoe fell right above Halt’s head. A few of the employees snickered while Crowley got his basket and climbed down next to Halt. 

The black-haired man didn’t understand at first, until he heard the snickers. He looked up and his expression got sour. An interested viewer would maybe say that he blushed a bit. If that wasn’t recognizable before, it certainly was now. 

“Guys, you stand under the mistletoe,” Leander remarked with a smirk. Crowley looked up and smiled. 

“I guess we do,” he replied nonchalantly. He winked at Halt. 

“C’mon then, Halt,” he said, inching closer to him. His friend looked at him, not making any move to close the distance between them. He was bewildered. 

He was suspicious of his feelings for Crowley for a few months, but never acted on it. Crowley flirted shamelessly, that’s true, but Halt was never sure whether he felt the same as he did. But now, looking into Crowley’s eyes, he saw that his feelings were genuine. And, even more, his own feelings grew just by looking at his adorable red-haired dork. 

“Well?” Crowley prompted, waiting for him to decide if he would go through with it or not. To his enormous surprise, Halt smiled. He actually smiled and before Crowley could recover from such shock, he felt his dry lips on his. Closing his eyes, he returned the kiss, embracing Halt who didn’t dare to protest this time. 

When they broke the kiss, enormous cheer erupted from their co-workers. 

“I knew you’d get there!” Berrigan shouted, raising his hand with a cup of coffee. Crowley raised his eyebrow. 

“Guys, I could spot a good romance from a mile away, and you two, you have the chemistry,” he said and Halt strongly suspected that there was something else than just coffee in his cup. 

“Euhm, thanks,” Crowley smiled, still holding Halt’s hand and his ears matching the colour of his hair. 

“Anyone else want a kiss under the mistletoe?” Berrigan called. “I’ll volunteer!” The other occupants of the café burst into laughter, including Halt with his lips curling upwards and Crowley laughing his lungs out. This was proving to be a good evening. 

After saying goodbyes in the café, Halt and Crowley swung by the mead stand. Halt was generous and paid for them both, knowing that this time, he’d be able to take Crowley’s flirting. How could he not, knowing that he felt the same way? The two of them strolled down the streets, Crowley holding the little fir tree in his hand and holding Halt’s hand with the other and he started singing Christmas carols loudly. Halt would later tell him that the blush that spread on his cheeks when Crowley started singing “All I want for Christmas is you” was actually from the cold, but Crowley would never believe him that. Crowley would be right. 

The two men got to the apartment they shared and went inside. Crowley bent down to put the little fir tree on the floor of the living room, when he felt a presence behind him. Standing up, he turned and smirked at Halt. 

“Want another kiss, Halt?” he asked, dangerous sparks glistening in his eyes. What he didn’t count on, was Halt’s own smirk as he pulled out a branch of mistletoe from his jacket and held it above their heads. 

“What do you think?” he asked, for the first time feeling secure to flirt with his friend. But maybe that was also because of the mead they had drunk. He could swear he never saw Crowley look this happy. 

“Come here,” the redhead said, pulling him in by the collar. “I’ve dreamt about this for months,” he whispered right before they kissed, for the second time that day, and surely not for the last.


End file.
